


The Open Road

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Community: lewis_challenge, Gen, James quotes poetry, Mentions of Laura Hobson, Post-S7, long walks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: ”Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,Healthy, free, the world before me,The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.”James contemplates a long walk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uniquepov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/gifts).



> This is written for the Summer Challenge on the Lewis_Challenge community on Live_Journal. Originally, I had a considerably longer version in mind, but a house-move and an overworked and painful right arm put paid to that. So here it is, such as it is. 
> 
> With thanks to the Lewis_Challenge mods for once again running this lovely fest of Lewis fic!
> 
> An earlier, unfinished version of this was posted on dreamwidth some months ago as a gift for Uniquepov, and so I have also dedicated this to her.
> 
> * * *

For the first time in almost ten years, there’s no warrant card in his pocket. He’s one mobile phone lighter – and if he feels like going anywhere this evening, it’ll be on his own two feet. He’d sold his own car a couple of years ago; he used it so infrequently that it wasn’t worth the cost of insurance and maintenance. 

James isn’t quite an ex-copper, given the agreement he reached earlier with Innocent, but it’s close enough. And it’s only a matter of time before the police force will be completely out of his life. He isn’t even having to work a notice period – he had enough overtime and lieu time racked up that the force actually owed him time rather than the other way around.

Lewis won’t be happy that he’ll have to work out his own last weeks without a bagman, but James can’t let that influence his decision. His best interests are served by the path he’s taken, and that’s all there is to it. Lewis – no, Robbie, as his now former boss has invited him to address him – will understand.

His rucksack is in the bedroom, almost packed. There’s a bus to London tomorrow evening, which will get him to Waterloo in time for the Chunnel train, and then from Paris… well, that decision can wait. The important part is getting away from this city, which for longer than he’d realised has been weighing oppressively on him. This breaking-point would have come sooner or later. Adam Tibbit’s death has merely hastened it by perhaps a few months. 

He’s plucking out one of his old band’s tunes on his guitar when the knock comes at the door. The single tap followed by a double rap is instantly recognisable. Well, he has to face Robbie before he leaves. Might as well be now. Though he has been tempted just to leave a voicemail saying goodbye…

No. That’s not fair to the man who’s been his mentor and, in so many ways, his saviour. James takes a deep breath, sets his guitar aside and pads in stockinged feet to the door.

Robbie hasn’t come straight from work; he’s wearing a blue checked shirt and jeans. He holds up a six–pack of Bridge, as if to barter his access. James steps back with a casual “Hi.”

“Hi. Hope it’s all right – I wanted to talk to you.”

“Of course.” James leads the way into his living–room. “I thought about seeing if you were free for a pint tomorrow lunchtime. I owe you more of an explanation than I gave you this morning – and an apology for leaving you with all the post-case paperwork.” He’d already been packing up the few personal belongings he’d had in his desk when Robbie’d returned to their office. _Had enough time owing that I can leave now, unless you object?_

And of course Robbie hadn’t objected. He’d just shrugged his acceptance of James’s preference, the way he had yesterday evening when he’d realised how serious James was about quitting the police. 

“Innocent filled me in,” Robbie says as he accepts an opened bottle from James and takes a seat on the couch. “Says she persuaded you not to resign and you’re on unpaid leave instead while you think things over.”

“Mmm.” James takes a drink, then picks at the label on the bottle. “Actually, she refused to allow me to resign. I’m not quite sure that qualifies under the definition of persuading. Though she did say that if I still want to resign once I’ve thought things over she won’t try to stop me.”

“Can’t blame her for trying, man.” Robbie bumps James’s shoulder. “You’re a bloody good copper, and she’s had her eye on you for promotion for years.”

“Fast-track, I know.” James tips his head back, staring up at the whorls on the decorated ceiling. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. When I applied to join the police, that is.”

Robbie snorts gently. “You never did tell me why the police. Well, other than paying better than the priesthood, o’course.”

James smirks. “Isn’t it obvious? When I was at Cambridge, I’d watch repeats of _The Sweeney_ instead of writing essays.”

“Ye did not.” Robbie turns to stare at him. “Those two are the sort of coppers that’d give Innocent constant migraines.”

“As opposed to us causing her headaches once a fortnight.” He nudges Robbie. “She’ll miss us, you know. Who’s she going to complain about now?”

“There’s always Hooper,” Robbie comments with a grin. He sets his bottle on the coffee table and turns towards James, raising an eyebrow. “And what about you? What are your plans?”

Well, it’s not as if he hadn’t known this was coming. “I’m going away for a while.”

“Are you, now.” Robbie doesn’t sound one bit surprised.

“Mmm. At least a month, maybe two or three.” Best to get it all out there. “I’m leaving tomorrow evening. Ticket’s already booked.”

An unsurprised nod from the man on his left. “Where are you off to?”

“Spain.” And he hadn’t even acknowledged that to himself yet, had he? But this is the destination he’s had in mind ever since he told Robbie he was resigning. He’s going to walk – or at least attempt – the Camino de Santiago.

He’s expecting a quip about not drinking too much sangria. But that’s not what Robbie says. 

“Can I come with you?”

James’s jaw drops. “You’re joking!”

“Perfectly serious.”

He can’t be. Robbie has to be winding him up. Why would he leave Laura behind when the two of them are still settling into their relationship? And why on earth would he want to go anywhere with James?

Because this can’t possibly be anything other than a wind-up, it’s important to treat it as such. James turns sideways, slanting his body towards Robbie. “What, you’re feeling deprived of tapas and sangria? I can recommend an excellent bar here in Oxford.”

“Nice try.” 

Robbie with him in Spain? His heart leaps at the thought. But, even if Robbie is serious, and of course he can’t be, there are so many reasons why it’s a bad idea. Most of them are reasons he can’t possibly voice aloud. “I’m planning on doing a lot of walking. Fifteen to twenty miles a day.”

Robbie nods, as if he’s worked out the solution to a nagging question on a case. “The Camino de Santiago.”

James has learned from experience to be unsurprised when Robbie reveals unexpected knowledge. He smiles with faint irony.

_”Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,_  
_Healthy, free, the world before me,_  
_The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.”_

Robbie snorts faintly. James looks sideways at him. “What?”

He’s expecting to see Robbie’s so-familiar mocking expression, but instead his old governor’s face is sad. “Leavin’ aside the lack of a _long brown path_ , I’d willingly walk twenty miles a day just to see you light-hearted.”

James has no answer to that. He hadn’t thought his mental state had been so apparent, but that only goes to show what a crap copper he really was. Yes, Robbie Lewis is the most observant copper he’s ever worked with, but he’d convinced himself that he’d become even better at dissembling in response – more than good enough to fool his boss. 

Clearly not. Robbie knows James’s greatest fear about his planned pilgrimage: that he might not be able to leave his troubles behind him here in Oxford.

_(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,_  
_I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,_  
_I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,_  
_I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)_

Since he has no intention of admitting this to the man who knows him only too well, distraction is the only strategy. “Lack of a long brown path?” 

“Neighbour of mine walked the Camino a few years ago. Said the one thing he wished he’d known before going was how much of the way is actually along main roads. Busy traffic, noisy, too many people, no decent views and uncomfortable hard surfaces. Blistered an’ bleeding feet aren’t much fun – unless you’re doing this as some kind of penance?” 

James shrugs. Robbie, of all people, knows the answer to that. 

“Plenty of places we could go walking that’d be much nicer. Lake District, Scotland, the South Downs – or, if you really need to leave the country, Tuscany and Umbria, or Provence. Or go in the other direction – Laura said she once went on a walking tour in Connemara.” Robbie sips his beer. “Decent walking paths, much quieter and some decent scenery. Not to mention decent beer, if we stick to the British Isles.” 

_We_. He keeps saying _we_. Is it possible that Robbie’s being serious? 

But of course it isn’t. And it’s obvious now why Robbie’s doing it: he’s trying to chip away at James’s decision to go away, hoping James will change his mind. His fists clench. He’d respect Robbie more if the man just came right out and asked him not to go. 

Well, he’ll just play along, pretend to believe Robbie, and see how long it takes to force his ex-boss to admit he wasn’t serious. 

So he frowns, tapping the arm of the sofa. “But you’re still working out your notice.” 

Robbie shrugs. “I can take a few weeks’ holiday. Could leave immediately if I wanted. Since you’re already gone an’ all I’m going to be doing is paperwork, Innocent probably wouldn’t mind too much. CPS has what they need to get started on the case, and Stella Drew’s been charged. It’ll be fine.” 

Fine? It’d throw the cat among the pigeons, more like. James can imagine some hapless DS being pulled in to supervise the DCs and coordinate all the paperwork on a case he or she’s had nothing to do with. But then, it’s not really going to happen, so he can hardly waste time feeling sorry for one of his former fellow sergeants. 

It’s not going to happen. Of course not – so why is Robbie continuing to paint this picture of the two of them strolling happily together along a country lane somewhere pretty? A surge of anger hits him, and abruptly he stands, taking his empty bottle to the kitchen and setting it on the counter. 

"What about Laura?” His tone’s on the edge of being sharp. 

Robbie stands and strolls over to join him. “We’re not joined at the hip. Can do things without her from time to time – including going away with me best mate.” 

James gives him a disbelieving glance. How long is he going to keep up this game? “What is this? You think I need supervision?” 

He’s expecting Robbie to treat his almost-scornful question as a wind-up, but Robbie’s response takes his breath away. “I’m afraid that if you go away on your own you might not come back. Might never see you again.” 

* * *

Two days later, James is pacing in the kitchen of his flat, chain-smoking and inhaling coffee. Robbie is due to arrive any minute now to start their walking holiday – assuming his former boss meant everything he’d said that evening. 

It’s what he’d said at the end that had convinced James that Robbie wasn’t taking the piss. 

_I’m afraid that if you go away on your own you might not come back. Might never see you again._

He and Robbie have had more than seven years of taking the piss, winding each other up and never saying what they actually mean. Saying things straight out - it’s just not a Geordie thing, he suspects Robbie might say, but then it’s not a James thing either. But Robbie’d come right out and said it, with the kind of raw honesty that’d made it impossible for James to pretend his ex-boss wasn’t speaking the absolute truth. 

He could have answered Robbie by assuring him that he’d be back, that he had no intention of disappearing for good. The trouble with that assurance would have been that he wasn’t entirely convinced of its truth. As painful as staying away from Oxford and never seeing Robbie Lewis again would have been, being in a new environment should mean that the pain would eventually dull. But staying in the city and seeing over time their friendship dissipate, the promised regular pints dwindling into a once-in-a-blue-moon get-togethers would be unbearable. 

Because what do they have to bind them together now, after all? They don’t have the Force, not any more. They don’t have the shared experience of single blokes seeking companionship for a pint or a curry any more, either. Robbie has Laura, and it’s become increasingly clear that she has first call on his time – which, of course, is only natural and what James would expect. 

But apparently it matters to Robbie that James is around and that they stay in contact. 

And, apparently, that they go on a walking holiday together. Without Laura. 

They’re going to walk parts of the South West Coast Path, in north Devon and, depending on how energetic Robbie feels, he said to James, they might even make it into Cornwall. If James really wants to see Land’s End, though, he’ll have to put up with driving there; Robbie put his foot down against the possibility of walking a hundred and forty-two miles – so much for his claim of being happy to walk twenty miles a day, though James had refrained from pointing that fact out. They’ll be driving here and there anyway, skipping out parts of the path that Robbie deems _less interesting_ , which James has interpreted as meaning _don’t have enough decent pubs_

How long they’ll be away is an open question. As he’d told Robbie, James’s original plan would have kept him on the Continent for at least a month, and possibly two or even three if he’d decided to walk on towards the coast. Robbie won’t want to be away from Laura that long, even if he could take James’s uninterrupted company for all that time, but he’s hinted at two to three weeks at least. James, again, had worried about Laura, not only about Robbie missing her but about Laura resenting the fact that her newly-acquired partner had disappeared off with his former sergeant. 

And then Laura had phoned him – yesterday afternoon, while Robbie was clearing his desk at the nick. In her typical bracing manner, she’d been kind, asking how he was and whether he was enjoying the lack of early-morning callouts. And then she’d surprised him completely by telling him she was glad that Robbie was going on holiday with him. “He needs it, James. It’s been a long time since he had a real holiday – not visiting family or babysitting Jack. And it’ll be good for the two of you to spend time together as friends, not inspector and bagman.” 

Friends. The description had caused James to pause. Laura was right: he’d spent the past seven years – the entire period of his acquaintance with Lewis – thinking of the man as his superior officer, no matter how much he took the piss on occasion, and it was going to be a huge mental shift to get used to seeing Robbie Lewis any other way. Yet it seemed, as he continued talking to Laura, very much as if friendship was the way they were heading. 

Friendship, also, with Laura, judging by the way she was chatting with him, the concerned interest she was expressing in his well-being and her strongly-worded invitation – order, more or less – for him to come to dinner with her and Robbie once they were back in Oxford. 

And so here he is, waiting for his friend Robbie to arrive and drive the two of them to Devon for a walking – and drinking – holiday. 

James is looking forward to it – not only to the time to be spent with Robbie Lewis, but every bit as much to the prospect of not being solitary, alone with the thoughts and doubts, guilt and self-criticism that have plagued him for the last year or more. 

* * *

“What’s next for you, then?” 

They’re strolling along a stretch of the coastal path westwards towards Torbay in Devon, a couple of days after leaving Oxford. There are pints with their names on them at their destination, and a comfortable night’s sleep booked at the B &B where they left the car that morning. The last couple of days have followed a similar pattern, and James thinks that he’ll be very satisfied if the rest of their two or three weeks are more or less the same. The walking’s relaxing him and clearing his head; the alcohol is also relaxing him while making him a bit less clear-headed; and the company, most of all, is the best remedy for the malaise he’d been suffering over those last two or three months before his resignation. 

It’s not gone, the black dog that’s been following him for those months, and on and off through much of his life – but perhaps he’s starting to recognise that he can learn to cope with it. It helps knowing that there are friends who care. Laura phones every day, and she always asks to speak to him as well as Robbie. James thinks he’ll enjoy getting to know her better once he’s back home. 

James glances at his companion. “What’s next?” 

Robbie waves a hand. “You know what I mean. Don’t avoid the question.” 

That’s fair enough. He reckons he owes the man an answer. All the same, he lets a couple of dozen paces go by before answering. 

Where do I go now, you ask? Who knows, Robbie. I’ve got two failed careers behind me. I’m in no hurry to risk a third.” 

Robbie stops dead, disbelief and indignation visibly welling up inside him. “Failed me arse! You were a brilliant copper. Best I’ve worked with – an’, yes, that includes Morse.” James looks around at him, sceptical. “For all his genius, he was wrong nearly as often as he was right. You, though – you’re not only strong on the procedure and documentation, making sure everything’s done thoroughly and _right_ , but you’re brilliant at research. I dunno where you manage to dig half the stuff up from. And your instincts are good. You know when something’s not right, and when and where to look. You got burned out, man. You didn’t fail.” 

James shakes his head, lips pressed stubbornly together. But Robbie’s expression is even more stubborn, his eyes alert with a realisation he seems to know he should have seen before. 

“I’m the one who failed, James. I failed you.” 

“That’s bollocks! You did nothing–” 

“Exactly. I was your governor. You burned out on my watch an’ I did nothing. I should’ve seen it coming – I’d known you weren’t yourself for a while. Was too caught up in me own affairs – Laura, then Lyn and Jack, an’ then thinking about retiring. I wasn’t paying attention to you, and I let you down.” 

He can’t say he hadn’t noticed, and felt abandoned by, Lewis’s diverted attention. But, reflecting on those bewildering and lonely weeks now as the sun shimmers over the English Channel, it occurs to him that he’s an adult – even, as Lewis had pointed out, ready to reach the dizzy heights of Detective Inspector if he’d wanted – and had no business feeling neglected or ignored just because his boss and constant companion had had the good fortune to fall in love. 

But burned out? Was that what had happened? 

The idea puts a new perspective on things, certainly. 

But he has to deal with Robbie first. “I wasn’t a green DC. I was a DS with nearly ten years in the force behind me. Besides…” He sighs, pausing to gaze out across the gently-cresting waves lapping onto the beach below. “I am aware that I’m not the easiest person to help. I’m also not unaware that you did try.” 

“Not hard enough.” Robbie’s come to stand beside him, their arms brushing as they watch the waves together. 

James snorts. “I’m not sure anything would have made a difference. Maybe I am burned out. Maybe in another universe I could have gone on to become Chief Super. Maybe in another universe still I might have ended up Archbishop of Birmingham.” He huffs softly, scorning his mock-hubris. “Maybe in this universe – who knows? – I might yet take Innocent up on her offer and return to the fold. Maybe-” His lips stretch into a gently humorous smile. “-maybe you might even unretire and come back and join me. Countless possibilities, Robert.” 

Robbie jabs James’s side with his elbow. “That’s Robbie, and stranger things have happened. Thought for a while I’d never come back after me attachment in the BVI. But by the time it was up all I wanted was to be back on the job. To have at least some part of my life back to normal and under control.” 

James nods; his memory of the newly-returned Robbie Lewis is sharply clear. And if that man was able to pick himself up and rebuild a shattered life, then can’t James do the same? 

He turns and starts walking again, and Robbie falls into step beside him, just as they’ve walked every working day for more than seven years. 

Could he do it again without Robbie? Could he do it at all? Who knows? At this moment, not James Hathaway. But at this moment, too, it just doesn’t seem to matter all that much. 

With a half-smile, he begins to quote the poem that’s been in his head ever since he first started thinking about taking a long, long walk. 

“ _Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,_  
_Healthy, free, the world before me,  
_ _The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose._

___Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,_  
_Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,_  
_Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,  
_ _Strong and content I travel the open road._ ” 

____

Robbie’s amused smile shows that he recognises the start of the poem. “Haven’t seen you light-hearted for a while, all right. Maybe this afoot business’ll do you some good." 

James inclines his head in acknowledgement. “It’s from Walt Whitman’s _Song of the Open Road_.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “These lines a little over halfway through have been on my mind today:

_The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine._

_I am larger, better than I thought,_  
_I did not know I held so much goodness._ ”

James gives Robbie a twisted grimace. “Maybe I’m hoping that by the end of this journey I’ll be able to say that and mean it.”

A warm hand lands on James’s shoulder. “You will. Cause I can look at you an’ say I always knew it. Your problem is you don’t look hard enough.” 

But Robbie does, and he always has. He’s always believed in James, even when James didn’t believe in himself. He’s always supported James, even when James doesn’t know whether he’s doing the right thing. And Laura was right: they are friends, and at this moment, on this beautiful spring day, it’s hard to believe that they could ever not be. 

“Thank you,” James says, the words almost spilling out of him. “I never said that. Not just for training me up, but for being the best governor and friend I could have had.” 

Robbie snorts. “An’ yet you could have had Grainger.” 

“I made the right choice.” James brushes a hand across Robbie’s back in silent emphasis. 

For a few moments, they walk on in silence, arms around each other. And then Robbie pats James’s back before letting his hand fall. “Come on. There’s a pint of Butcombe gettin’ warm waiting for me.” 

James grins, quickening his pace next to his best friend as they head towards their liquid reward. 

He might not yet know what he’s going to do with the rest of his life, or even what he’ll do once he gets back to Oxford, but the one thing he knows beyond any doubt is that Robbie Lewis is going to stay part of it. 

* * *

_Camerado, I give you my hand!_  
_I give you my love more precious than money,_  
_I give you myself before preaching or law;_  
_Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?_  
_Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?_

* * *


	2. Epilogue

_Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,_  
_To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,_  
_To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,_  
_Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,_  
__To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,__  
__To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,__  
__To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you,  
__To see no being, not God’s or any._ ___

* * *

____

_____ _ _ _

_____James stands on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, gazing out at white-topped waves as far as his eye can see. In the distance lie the Scilly Isles, and if he turns in another direction there’s a lighthouse. In another direction still, there is nothing but open sea; the nearest land, as the crow flies, lies thousands of miles distant._ _ _ _ _

_____Land’s End._ _ _ _ _

_____Above him, seagulls shriek and clouds whip past; the wind’s gusty today, the sun nowhere in sight. Yet he can’t help feeling that a sunnier day would hold less appeal, the views less dramatic._ _ _ _ _

_____He stands alone, not another human being anywhere in sight, probably due to the chilly, windy weather, the rain that only stopped falling half an hour ago._ _ _ _ _

_____Land’s End – the end, for now, of their journey, his long walk, his… pilgrimage, as Robbie has insisted on calling it from time to time, with varying degrees of mockery. It is the end of the journey; they’ve been on the road, walking and driving and sharing pints and staying overnight in a succession of B &Bs – and talking – for almost four weeks now. And it’s been… cleansing. Also refreshing, energising, exhausting, occasionally frustrating – such as the time the heavens opened while they were walking through open countryside, not even a tree in sight to shelter under – but always worth the effort. And better, far better, than his original plan, the solo trek along the Camino de Santiago. Robbie’s companionship has made all the difference._ _ _ _ _

_____They’ve talked a lot, walked in silence a lot, and occasionally strolled alongside other walkers and chatted with them. Robbie’s shared stories of his childhood in Newcastle, his parents and siblings, and embarrassing stories of a not-particularly-misspent youth. Neither of them has mentioned James’s failure to share stories of his own childhood; he’s not ready yet to talk about Crevecoeur and what happened post-Crevecoeur, let alone the difficult relationship he has with his father, and the endless bickering with Nell which has continued into adulthood. Though the idea that perhaps he _could_ one day drop Nell or his father into casual conversation with Robbie now seems not too far-fetched._ _ _ _ _

_____There’s been reminiscing, too; they did work together for nearly eight years, after all. They’ve solved some baffling cases over that time, usually with a combination of James’s research skills or esoteric knowledge and Robbie’s almost supernatural gut instinct. They’ve put away some complete scum, criminals who destroyed lives without any regret and who fully deserve the life sentences they’ve been handed down. And along the way they’ve acted in instinctive solidarity against Innocent’s managerialism or the interference of pillocks like Peterson._ _ _ _ _

_____And, during those conversations, James has found himself actually missing his days as a Detective Sergeant: remembering that he loved the thrill of the hunt, the carefully-planned interviews that gradually wore the suspect down, the hours spent combing through documents, following trails that led from one tiny detail to another, and another, and then that final shred of evidence that would point to the murderer._ _ _ _ _

_____And it’s at times like those that he acknowledges he was actually a pretty decent copper. He doesn’t have Robbie Lewis’s scarily accurate gut instincts, or the man’s ability to strike up apparently casual conversation with witnesses and suspects, only to strike with laser-sharp accuracy on a tiny detail. He isn’t Robbie Lewis – but, as Robbie told him once, Lewis isn’t Chief Inspector Morse. Yet his solve rate was about the same as Morse’s._ _ _ _ _

_____“With you, most of the time, remember,” Robbie’d pointed out. “And the team. We all know it’s nothing like they pretend on those telly detective programs.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Teamwork, yes, and each member of the team playing a key role in the outcome – and, being human, making mistakes along the way. On one of James’s early cases with the late and unlamented DI Knox, a hapless DC had contaminated the crime scene by trampling all over it in his size twelves without wearing protective clothing. That same copper is now a highly competent DS who’s likely to make DI in the next couple of years._ _ _ _ _

_____Was James’s crisis due to burnout, rather than what he saw as his own shortcomings, his own failings? He knows Robbie thinks so, though his former governor hasn’t brought the subject up since. He isn’t so certain himself, though he’s less inclined to see the issue as starkly as he did on the day he announced his intention of resigning. The change isn’t only in his conscious thoughts; Adam Tibbit’s and Debbie Cliff’s accusing appearances in his nightmares and flashbacks have reduced as well, though not disappeared entirely. He hasn’t seen Vicki Walmsley in his dreams since they left Oxford._ _ _ _ _

_____He has seen Robbie Lewis, though. Leaning against a wall, studying James with a fondly concerned eye, his ex-governor’s message in his dreams is consistent and clear, the same message he’s also delivered once or twice during waking hours. “They’re just lashing out, man. It’s what people do when the pain won’t go away. It’s only human – they need someone to blame. Remember Michelle Marber, still accusing Falconer of murder years after her son died?”_ _ _ _ _

_____The logical side of him knows that Robbie’s right. And even the self-sabotaging side knows that Robbie has been right more often over the last eight years than James has been willing to admit. Robbie might think he let James down, but he’s been the most reliable, solid support that James has ever had in his life._ _ _ _ _

_____And, as if James needed more proof of Robbie Lewis’s caring, the man’s spent the last month on the move with James, instead of being at home with Laura, enjoying their new relationship as well as his retirement. Not just keeping James company in his aimless walk, staying in a different B &B almost every night, but even putting up with those interests of James’s he doesn’t share. Cornwall is awash with historic churches, many dating back to before the Reformation, and some of which are on the sites of sixth or seventh-century monasteries. Robbie even – with more than one heavy sigh – agree to detour further than usual from their mainly coastal travels to visit Launceston Priory, and didn’t complain when he discovered that the remains of the Priory were little more than partial foundations and a few broken columns and pillars. _ _ _ _ _

_____“If I’d known you wanted to see a few rocks half-covered with grass, I could’ve taken you down the end of Laura’s back garden,” Robbie’d commented with characteristic dryness – but that still hadn’t stopped him strolling alongside James for the couple of hours they’d spent at the Priory before adjourning to the nearest pub._ _ _ _ _

_____“Promises, promises,” James had quipped, though inside he’d been filled with warmth. Part of his desire to escape from Oxford, after all, had been motivated by the belief – the fear – that once Robbie settled into retirement and moved in with Laura then he and James would drift quickly apart. He’s learned on this journey that their friendship extends well beyond their working partnership, and that Robbie values him far beyond their relationship as governor and sergeant._ _ _ _ _

_____In fact, Robbie’s started talking as if James will be an essential part of his retirement life. There may not be an allotment; Laura’s current house has a decent garden where Robbie can let his horticultural yearnings run riot, though Robbie says they’ve started to talk about buying a house together which will be theirs, not hers. And one requirement, apparently, will be a good-sized back garden. Laura wants space for a patio and her swing, and Robbie wants to grow tomatoes and green beans. Apparently, the digging and fertilising of the soil is going to be James’s responsibility. Robbie does have a bad back, after all._ _ _ _ _

_____And, apparently, he will also be required to help with painting, decorating and any minor repairs the new house will need. “Since you’ve got so much time on your hands, an’ all,” Robbie’d said._ _ _ _ _

_____That is starting to sink in. Even more as they’d come closer to Land’s End, and the silent questions in Robbie’s eyes grew more numerous._ _ _ _ _

_____What will he do next? Not just in terms of this walk – nothing says that he has to get into Robbie’s car tomorrow or the day after and drive back to Oxford. He could set off on foot and walk to John O’Groats if he wants. But that would only postpone the real decision, wouldn’t it?_ _ _ _ _

_____Could he go back to the police? Would he even want to, without Robbie? Even if he was certain that this break’s been enough, mentally and physically, to overcome the issues that led to his attempt at resignation, could he do it without his friend and mentor? Though there is part of him that’s harbouring a wild hope that Robbie will find retirement too quiet, too tedious, too brain-numbingly boring, and that he’ll look for a way to come back to work. It’s probably not going to happen, but… well, James can dream._ _ _ _ _

_____He’s done a lot of that over this most recent week of their journey._ _ _ _ _

_____And so here he is, on this overcast Saturday morning, standing looking out over the English Channel as the sun struggles to come out from behind the scudding clouds. Thinking, debating with himself, his mind half in Cornwall and half back in Oxford. Remembering the three o’clock in the morning callouts, the long hours spent at crime scenes in fields or on the banks of the Cherwell or in an abandoned house reeking of decomposition. The suspects, the grieving, the defence lawyers and CPS solicitors, and always, always, bureaucracy and budgets and, most of all, the constant failings of humanity._ _ _ _ _

_____James had once believed that he could help make people better – first, as a priest, and then as a copper. That he could somehow stand as a bulwark against pain and despair, and guide the people he served along the right path. What an arrogant young know-it-all he’d been back then – no wonder Knox had disliked him on sight. Lewis had merely been amused._ _ _ _ _

_____He knows better now. He can’t right the wrongs of the world by expecting people to do what he tells them, or even just by solving the crimes and sending the perpetrators to prison. There will always be misery and unfairness, wrongdoing and arrogance, criminality and malice. But Robbie, always able to find optimism even in the most miserable of situations, would point to all the good that James is missing: a life saved, a family reunited, a richly-deserved conviction achieved, a good turn done, a beautiful sunrise – and, of course, a decent pint well-earned after a hard day’s work._ _ _ _ _

_____Or the sparkling glint of sunlight on water as the clouds part for a brief moment._ _ _ _ _

_____They arrived in Land’s End yesterday afternoon, a drive of an hour or so from Penzance, where they’d spent the last couple of days walking around the town and the coast. Laura has come to join them, though James hasn’t seen her yet. Robbie went to meet her at Penzance railway station late last night - she’d caught the 18:01 from Oxford straight from work. James left their B &B after an early breakfast, texting Robbie to say he was going to walk around the coastal paths for a couple of hours and that he’d catch up with them later. He’s giving them time alone, which is one reason he’s here on his own, though it’s not the only, or even the most important, reason. _ _ _ _ _

_____Time to think, to reflect, without the distraction of Robbie’s all too common-sense thinking._ _ _ _ _

_____He takes a few careful strides over the uneven promontory closer to the edge, and looks down. Below him, waves crash against the rocks, foam turning the water white. There’s nowhere else to go from here – no more distance he can put between himself and the life, the career, he’s been trying to run away from. An impossible task, of course, because it was never the job that was the problem. And he can’t run away from himself._ _ _ _ _

_____It is the end of the journey, the end of the road, and it’s time to make a choice._ _ _ _ _

_____The clouds part, the sun comes out, and there’s a deliberate, pointed cough from behind him._ _ _ _ _

_____James turns. Standing a few feet away, hand in hand, are Robbie and Laura, and Laura’s the one who’s just demanded his attention. She’s standing watching him, eyebrows raised as if commanding his attention at a crime scene, while Robbie’s just smirking._ _ _ _ _

_____“I come all this way to see you, and this is the welcome I get? I have to tramp for half an hour in search of you?” Laura’s free hand is at her hip now, elbow akimbo. But her eyes are alight with pleasure – pleasure at seeing him?_ _ _ _ _

_____Apparently so. And her happiness is returned. There’s delight rising in his chest as he takes the two or three long strides to join the two of them. Laura reaches up to hug him, something she’s never done before, but maybe this is how things could be from now on. He stoops to kiss her cheek, and is rewarded by smiles from both of them._ _ _ _ _

_____And, without James being aware of how it’s happened, they’ve regrouped, with him in the middle and Robbie and Laura on either side of him, Laura’s arm around his waist and Robbie’s draped casually around his shoulders. “We noticed a pub a bit along the road that looks decent. Well, serves a decent pint, anyway, an’ the sign says food. Thought it’d do for lunch. An’ then the weather’s supposed to be good this afternoon and tomorrow, so we could show Laura our walking expertise.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Sounds like a plan,” James agrees. And somehow his arms are around both of them in return._ _ _ _ _

_____“Question is,” Robbie continues, and it’s more than just an idle question, however casually he’s wording it, “what do we do after that?”_ _ _ _ _

_____And there it is: the question he’s been debating in his own mind all morning. Can he go back? And if so, what is he going back to? Resignation – or promotion? Can he be a copper without Robbie at his side every day?_ _ _ _ _

_____But if this long walk has taught him anything, it’s that Robbie’s going to be part of his life, whatever he does. There’ll be long summer afternoons digging in Robbie’s future garden, or weekends spent painting the new house – followed by evenings relaxing with both Robbie and Laura over a glass of wine. There’ll be evenings spent in any of their favourite pubs, winding each other up and setting the world to rights over a pint of Bridge. Robbie’s going nowhere: he’ll still be friend, mentor, the boot in the backside he frequently needs, and the greatest source of wisdom he’s ever had._ _ _ _ _

_____James looks down at Laura, who smiles up at him. He turns to Robbie, whose soft grin is warm and encouraging. And his heart is lighter than it’s been in years._ _ _ _ _

_____“Let’s go home.”_ _ _ _ _

* * *

_______The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,_  
_I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,_  
_Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged._  
_Listen! I will be honest with you,_  
_I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,_  
_These are the days that must happen to you:_  
__You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,__  
__You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,  
__You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d._ ___

* * *

**Author's Note:**

>  _Walt Whitman’s_ Song of the Open Road _may be found[here](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48859/song-of-the-open-road)._


End file.
